


love until we burn up

by stormss



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/F, First Kiss, help i love these girls so much, mentioned dizzee/thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormss/pseuds/stormss
Summary: He promised her it was where the free people ran free, and liberty was just barely in her grasp.





	love until we burn up

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi
> 
> so, this is kinda self-indulgent, and just all my hopes and dreams for these girls thrown together in a fic that i barely read over. oops?? 
> 
> the title is from _cliff's edge_ by hayley kiyoko.

The thing is, Yolanda is not afraid of who she is. 

It's one of the thousands of reasons why she adores her mother, like the goddess of earth and power she is. Her mother taught her to be proud, to wear her smile like a string of pearls around her neck. It's why she doesn't flinch when things are thrown her way; it's why she doesn't back down when her friends need her. 

Perhaps, in hindsight, it's also why she desires the quiet. In a world of music she and her girls have made for themselves, sometimes she needs to just  _be._ Sometimes the only thing she desires is to just sit with her mother outside, past the fall of daylight, basking in the calm and familiar nightlife. 

Then again, she is human, and humans have faults, have fears. She is human, and she tries not to cower away from the fire clawing up her chest when she sees Regina. 

Regina Diaz, breaker of hearts, lover of life, owner of a smile made of a thousand stars. Sometimes Yolanda listens to Dizzee rave at the dinner table about gods and prophets and rebels, and while she'll scoff and roll her eyes in the moment she can't help but to imagine late at night. She can't help but to picture these gods making Regina, because she is everything golden in this life, and Yolanda dreams of impossibly large hands of every colour piecing her together, bit by bit. 

Yolanda, touching her palm to her own heart, will bow her head and pray but she still  _wants wants wants —_

— it all started in middle school. When life was paper airplanes and yellow rain jackets. 

Like Dizzee, like all her brothers, she is made of rain. She loves the pattering of the drops against her window at night, and she loved it then. But she remembers that day in October, when the fat drops hit her skin and it was impossibly cold despite the sun shining behind the clouds. But the moment a girl wrapped her thin fingers around Yolanda's wrist, friendly and asking to be best friends, it felt like lightning struck every fibre of her being. 

Regina shined like a star even then, hair in pigtails and a smiley face drawn in sparkly purple pen on her arm. 

They're still best friends, years later, and maybe they're made of the same stuff. Maybe they have something that just brought them together, like stardust in their veins, because they're so eerily alike but different in a complimentary way at the same time. 

They're eighteen now, and one night Yolanda is drunk off happiness and confident under strobe lights, so she kisses her. 

Regina doesn't pull away. 

It goes like this: 

They're at one of the underground clubs in SoHo, at one of the art parties Dizzee could talk to her about for hours. He's open to her about everything, about his Thor, and since she's Yolanda Kipling she convinces him to give her a date, time and address for the next party. And when she shows up at the door, Regina at her side, she remembers his words echoing in her ear. 

He promised her it was where the free people ran free, and liberty was just barely in her grasp. 

The room is all glitter and bodies and  _glittery bodies_ and Yolanda watches in awe as boys openly kiss boys and girls openly kiss girls. Maybe it's the freedom thing. Maybe it's just the desire to be who they want to be. 

Regina is almost immediately whisked away, people drawing to her like a moth to a flame. Yolanda watches with a small smile on her face as Regina laughs with her head tipped back, completely joyous as a boy with lipstick and gold eyeshadow twirls her around the dance floor. Once the song is over, he kisses her hand, she kisses his cheek, and they both split apart.

She comes for Yolanda, and her heart just might give out. Holding it together around Regina was getting harder and harder, these days.

"Come dance with me!" Regina yells, over the music, and this isn't anything different from a normal night out. They look fucking hot, they love their songs, they dance to whatever the DJ plays. But when Regina takes her hand like she did on a playground eight years ago, it doesn't feel like a normal night out.

Yolanda goes, follows, just like always, and grins herself when she's brought into a group of moving souls, people dancing not because they want to look good, but because they just love to do it. She's always loved disco, loved the harmonies and the intense culmination of rhythm and instruments all set to a rocking beat. She loved dancing as a kid, in the shop or in her bedroom, and she loved dancing now — and her new favourite thing is dancing like _this_ with Regina.

Free and alive, as revolutionaries should be. 

The song switches, fades out perfectly like records do in the hands of a good DJ, and Yolanda just can't stop herself from looking at Regina. They aren't drinking, and though they smoked a cigarette while waiting for the train they aren't high. But Yolanda can't figure out why she feels so floaty when she's not even on anything. 

(Dizzee is almost always like this, she knows, and she wonders how his mind keeps up with a heart that beats like a drum out of time). 

Somehow they get pushed closer, and Regina welcomes it with ease, rests her hands on Yolanda's waist and draws her even closer. She closes her eyes to feel the slower song, the melody and lyrics, and the pink lights above glint off the sequins on her dress. The boy with lipstick and gold shadow is kissing another boy, and it looks so natural, so easy. 

Yolanda's never liked boys. 

She likes Regina. She might even love her. And now is her chance. 

The music continues on, and time is a concept that is forgotten, and Yolanda's heart leaps to her throat too many times to count. Regina still has her hands on her waist, like they're supposed to be there, and something in Yolanda makes her move a step closer. Then another. And another. 

They're practically nose-to-nose, and Regina meets her gaze. 

All of a sudden it's like their minds become one, and they just understand what this is. 

"This is real, for me," Regina whispers, and Yolanda mainly has to read her lips to figure out what she says because the music is so loud. But she figures it out and tries not to scream because how is this her life? 

"It's real for me too." Yolanda mouths back, and then adrenaline is like the fuel sparking the fire in her veins, and she kisses Regina. 

She hasn't kissed a ton of people, but she knows how it goes. Regina's the experienced one, and in this case she's the one mostly caught off guard. The first kiss is just a press of their lips, careful and testing. But then Regina kisses her again, and again, and it practically knocks Yolanda right off her damn feet. 

The kiss is like — like a symphony. A collection of strings and horns. A fucking choir, harmonizing together, singing celestial praise and hope for a higher being. 

Yolanda pulls back to breathe and gather herself, and Regina wipes the lipstick smudge under Yolanda's bottom lip, smiling that trademark Regina half-grin, half-smirk. Her eyes are twinkling and she's got some glitter over her cheekbone and she looks like freedom. 

Now that Yolanda's felt freedom under her fingertips and on her lips, she is never going to go back. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! 
> 
> drop a comment below and yell with me about tgd and these lovely ladies!!!
> 
> (or come say hi on [ tumblr! ](http://bi-kipling.tumblr.com/))


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